


You Can Hear It In the Silence

by MadQueenCersei



Category: 18th & 19th Century CE RPF, Hamilton - Miranda
Genre: (Ish) - Freeform, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Alternate Universe - Romantic Comedy, Eloping, F/M, cursing, excessive teasing, freckles and out-of-control hair, hangovers, references to sex but nothing explicit, this is fluff with depth
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-12-31
Updated: 2015-12-31
Packaged: 2018-05-10 14:39:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,928
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5590039
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MadQueenCersei/pseuds/MadQueenCersei
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“ 'We are calling my father first, together, before you start singing ABBA to me,' Theo says, getting back to her usual pre-coffee brusqueness. 'If you sing ABBA, I’m asking for an annulment.' ” </p><p>Or, the one where the engaged couple elopes a month before their wedding and tries to live to tell the tale.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Can Hear It In the Silence

**Author's Note:**

  * For [angelschuys](https://archiveofourown.org/gifts?recipient=angelschuys).



Philip regrets everything when he wakes up and his eyeballs feel like they’re glued to the insides of his eyelids. 

The sunlight peeks through the window in his bedroom, and Philip could not be less grateful for it. He groans and rolls over, burying his head in his pillow in an effort to block it out.

Next to him, he hears the most adorable sound in the world – the deep, equally annoyed groan of his bedmate. “Phillllllippppppppp,” she drones.

“Whaaaaaaaaaaaaaa?”

Philip is pretty sure his brain is moving about twice as slow as a zombie’s might, but at least he’s a morning person when it comes down to it. He rolls over, ignoring the throbbing pain in his head, and playfully pulls one of her curls, watching as it bounces back, adhering to her head again.

“Don’…” she swipes at him lazily with one hand, patting at his chest like she’s looking for a damn book or something.

“Can’t I say… good morning?” Philip tries to smile without making his face hurt; it doesn’t really work. 

The lovely woman in his bed finally turns over and stares directly at him. She looks like murder, but, like, cute murder. With her curls flying everywhere and her black eyes trying to bore a hole through him, and he can’t help but crack a real grin.

“Glasses. Coffee,” she grunts. 

Philip leans over and across her on the nightstand, grabbing her owl’s-eye sunglasses with one hand and smoothing over the frown lines with the other. 

“Hamilton!” she shrieks. “Get off me, you rogue!”

“Well, someone’s awake!” Philip says, wearing a shit-eating grin. “Do you want your glasses or not?”

She harrumphs quietly. “Talk less.”

He’s come to expect that response of her over the years, and it makes him laugh every time. She loves it when he talks and talks, almost as much (and maybe just as much) as she loves his head between her thighs. It’s her weakness. 

But he knows better than to mention it when they’re hungover.

“I’m a poet. Couldn’t shut up if I wanted to,” he smirks, wincing as he twists his neck the wrong way. “Now, about that coffee of yours.”

She lifts herself up off the mattress and purses her lips. Her fingers leap out and curl around his wrist. “Glasses,” she pouts. “Then coffee. Then Advil.”

“Deeeeeeeeeeeear Theodosia…”

“Fuck you, Pip.”

It’s silent for a moment, and then they both burst into laughter.

That’s Philip’s favorite thing about mornings: he loves that out of all the people in the world, Theodosia Burr chose him to be her best friend, her lover, and the person who sees her when she’s not charming the pants off the rest of the world in that way the Burrs do. She’s herself in public, too, but here, in bed with her, he gets to hear her unrestrained laughter and her unfiltered opinion.

Theo is always gorgeous, but somehow, she’s the most perfect when she’s got hangover breath, narrowed eyes and untamed…everything.

Philip’s thoughts are interrupted by a little huff. “You busy?” she asks. “I’m waiting.”

“You’re impossible.”

“I’m perfect.”

“Yes, you are. It’s why I married you.” He slides the glasses up the ridge of her nose, then bumps his nose against hers, unable to help himself. They look at each other for a soft, quiet moment, and then she rises up off the pillow and nips at his lip, pulling him down into a hungry kiss that feels like it could last for ages.

Philip breaks away from her and rests his forehead against hers, grinning again. He lets out a very undignified giggle – he can’t help it, honestly. He never believed he could be this happy, much less find something that feels this right. He’d been in love with her since he was nine, but it took until he graduated from Columbia at nineteen to realize that Theo was the muse filling his pages with metaphors and his YouTube channel with his only non-angry slam pieces.

But the thing is, the real Theo Burr could never be just a muse. She’s his late night coffee buddy, his sounding board for new pieces, his friendly reminders to not fight the entire city, his club buddy, his partner-in-crime. She’s everything.

(He’s shocked he didn’t tell her they were the definition of #squadgoals in his vows. He’ll tweet that later, if his head stops hurting long enough to look at a screen.)

As he straddles her thighs, Theo leans up to kiss him again, but halfway through trying to do that thing with her tongue that he goes crazy for, she bursts into her own round of giggles.

“That’s it,” Theo says, drawing Philip into her chest, her breasts pressed against his back as she attacks the nape of his neck with kisses, laughing all the while. Philip lets out a very embarrassing moan, but it’s interrupted by laughs of his own. Then, even with their mutual headaches, it’s just the two of them, black hands laced through olive ones, and the sounds of their utter giddiness rupturing the silence of the room.

After a few minutes of silence, Philip’s struck by the fact that the two of them have to get up eventually and deal with the naughtiness they’ve gotten up to.

“My dearest, Theodosia,” he drawls, putting the proper emphasis on the comma, “I don’t wanna move.”

“My dearest, Philip,” she says in his ear, “We’ve already done it. Now we just have to tell everyone.” 

He knows Theo like he knows his own soul, now, and he can tell she’s both pleased and incredibly nervous. “I told you we should wait for it, for once,” he pointed out. “You were the one who said your dad would get over it.”

“And you were nervous about your mother!” she points out, just a little too anxious for his liking. He flips around in the bed, trying not to bump his already-sore head as he faces Theo. He links fingers with her again, and they both sigh.

“So, what to say to them…” he trails off.

“You’re the poet, Mr. Hamilton,” she says. “I thought you had all the answers.”

He snorts. “I was a dean’s list kid at Columbia, Ms. Burr-Hamilton, not the world’s expert on charming Aaron Burr into not committing murder.” He relishes the sound of her name – their names – on his tongue.

Still, she doesn’t see his utter glee - she frowns. “Come on, I’m being serious. You know this is gonna be hard.”

“Baby, hard is keeping myself from punching George Eacker in the face,” he chuckles. “We eloped last night. This is a different animal entirely.”

Philip falls silent, for once, and lets himself trace the beauty marks along Theo’s neck with his eyes. He knows she’s doing the same thing with the freckles that are everywhere – his arms, his face, his neck. He feels her looking at him, and it’s like a brand on his skin. He’ll happily take it.

“I can’t believe you can talk like you’re a Shakespearean character when you’re hungover,” she mumbles. “But also…I still can’t believe we did it. Philip, I’m just so, so happy. I can’t even find the words to say it.”

“Same. But your dad is still gonna kill me.”

“But your mom is gonna say she’s not mad, just disappointed,” she points out, looking positively owlish in her glasses as the wheels turn in her head. “That’s way worse.”

She’s not wrong. No one disappoints Elizabeth Schuyler-Hamilton and gets away with it.

“So we’re doing this,” he says. “My darling wife, can you pleeeease grab me my cell phone and notebook?”

His darling wife sticks out her tongue at him. “But Advil!”

“Hey, I had to reach across you,” he protests, pulling the sheet up over himself. “Now it’s your turn. What’s mine is yours and all that.”

“That’s not what that means,” she groans, but she flings her body across his anyway. 

Theo reaches out, stretching as far as she can, and just barely manages to grab his iPhone and bullet journal. She starts moving backwards, and when she flails a bit, Philip encircles her waist with his hands and steadies her, letting his fingers run up and down her sides. She sighs a little and gives him the real smile – the one he’s seen and loved all morning.

“Thank you,” he says as she lays the items down next to his head.

“Someone’s gotta make progress on something,” Theo says. “So we’ve got to figure out what to say. The question is, how much of the truth do we tell them?”

It’s a loaded question. It’d be so much easier to tell his pops and Mr. Burr (he just can’t think of the man as anything else) that he and Theo were itching to speed up their engagement, got drunk, and got carried away. It’s harder to say, “Hey Ma, so I know you’re excited about this wedding, but Theo and I hated all the posturing and fussing our dads were doing and we really just needed to do this for us. We’ll celebrate with you guys later.”

Oh, wait. When he puts it like that, maybe it’s not so hard to say after all.

“You’re thinking?” Theo asks him. “Don’t hurt yourself, Pip.”

“Fuck off,” he mumbles, but he’s smiling in his voice. “Now you’re being the clownish one. I think…” and here, he sucks in a huge breath… “I think we need to tell them the truth. Even if it breaks my mom’s heart.”

“Eliza might be disappointed, babe, but she’s strong. I’m more worried about our dads,” Theo muses.

But the more Philip thinks about it, the happier he is that Theo convinced him to elope. They did this the right way; she finally took a stand, and he finally found a happy medium between what his family wants and what he wants.

Balance: it’s kind of nice when it trips into his life. 

“Says the man who did nine shots with me to celebrate our shotgun wedding.”

“Did I say that out loud?” he winces.

“Yep. I’m starting to think you need Advil more than I do.” Theo leans in and kisses his forehead, lingering for a moment. “You sure you’re okay?”

Fuck no; he feels exhilarated, and terrified, and hyper, and all sorts of weird levels of alert that he should probably be worried about. But if giddy and happy are a part of that, he’ll brave the conversations on the phone to let it last.

Philip leans forward and presses his own kiss to Theo’s ring finger, cool metal hitting his lips as much as flushed skin. “You’re my best friend,” he says. It’s not an answer to her current question, but it’s the best answer for the moment.

“And you’re mine,” Theo says. “I’m glad I took a chance on you.”

Philip grins. Then, he opens his mouth and –

“And we are calling my father first, together, before you start singing ABBA to me,” Theo says, getting back to her usual pre-coffee brusqueness. “If you sing ABBA, I’m asking for an annulment.”

That’s fair, so Philip shuts his mouth and holds her hand as she uses his cell phone to dial her father’s house. He presses a kiss onto her collarbone, and she presses the speaker button.

“We got this,” Philip says. “Our heads are gonna kill us, but we got this.”

And that’s the truest thing he’s ever said – he doesn’t need poetry in their bed to make it sound beautiful.

**Author's Note:**

> I've become utter trash of the...well, everything. It's my first Hamilton fic, so please let me know what you think, and if you wanna come cry over Philtheo or anything Hamilton, message me at gaytrishwalker or queenrichard on Tumblr. :)


End file.
